Hunted Warrior by Lindsey Piper Page B

first.” She slanted her eyes in an expression of unmistakable humor. She was teasing him. He hadn’t been teased so playfully, so innocently, in longer than he could remember. The Council didn’t tease; they jabbed knives.
    â€œI’ll refrain if at all possible,” he said, smirking.
    â€œPlain sight will draw them out, and will have the advantage of showing the Council you’re not afraid.” She pulled her boots up to the seat of the chair and wrapped her arms around her shins. Mal hadn’t thought her able to assume a tighter, more defensive position than her signature crouch, but she managed. This new pose struck him as so defensive as to border on vulnerable, as though she were a child crouched in the corner of a train station.
    â€œAnd unpredictable.”
    â€œYou’re catching on.”
    â€œMiracles never cease.”
    â€œI wouldn’t have thought you one to believe in miracles.”
    â€œIt’s just an expression.”
    She tipped her head. “Born of a kernel of truth.”
    He closed the scant distance between them and, on impulse, touched her black-on-black hair. The light he’d created still glowed overhead. He needed to feel the texture of such a wondrous feature. She was scrubbed clean, smelling of soap, water, and woman. Her hair remained in untamed spikes, pinned back from her face without care. Mal traced his fingers over a lock that brushed her cheek. It was far softer than he’d imagined, much like the woman herself.
    She looked away.
    â€œYou deserve to be admired,” he said, surprising himself. “I can’t trust you, but you’re one of the most resilient people I’ve ever met.”
    â€œStop. Please.”
    â€œNo. Uncurl for me.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œI’m not asking you to take your clothes off.” His temper shot to life for reasons that he couldn’t deny or ignore any longer. He wanted this woman to feel comfortable enough around him to quit behaving as if he’d beat her at any moment.
    Hypocrite.
    He’d just about leveled her with the blast of his gift. He had kissed her with so much force that she’d practically jumped clear of him. She had every reason to believe he could still do her harm. What she couldn’t know was that his thoughts, his emotions, were beginning to change. Dragon Kings knew it would be simpler if they didn’t, but he was feeling . A Giva didn’t feel. He remained impartial and made impartial judgments. He recruited soldiers of good repute to infiltrate the cartels and work toward bringing them down from the inside. He fought the Council’s recalcitrance and stubborn negativity, their petty infighting.
    He certainly didn’t feel . . . except when he was with Avyi.
    â€œHere.” He clasped her calves and slowly, with aching slowness, he pulled. At first she wove her fingers together and held her arms even tighter around her knees. But he was patient. He stroked her fingers, her knuckles, until they loosened. Her eyes held such a blend of yearning and fear. How often had she suffered that torturous combination?
    Her entire life.
    â€œLet go, Avyi. Let go.”
    She released her fingers, focusing that vise-tight grip on the armrests of the chair. The gold and green and wariness in her stare never wavered. She hardly blinked. Mal returned his slow touch to her calves. He pulled. The soles of her boots scraped the wooden edge of the chair with a sound that made her jump. But then her legs were free. Her knees eased. Her legs stretched. Finally, the soles of those wicked combat boots were flat on the floor.
    She sat in the chair like a woman unafraid, although fear still burned bright fires in her eyes. Her mouth was pinched to a tight white line that was even paler than her unusual skin. Could growing up in the labs have changed her complexion to such a degree? She should’ve been as robustly tan as the rest of the Dragon